


What Happens In Vegas

by Cadensaurus (orphan_account)



Category: MindCrack RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cadensaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a drunken game of Chances leads to something more - title and prompt taken from sunsetrambles</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In Vegas

They're in Vegas and it's the city of sin. It's certainly not a sin to gamble here though, and that's what Matt's doing. He's hooked up with Chad while they're in town together and they're at a blackjack table.

He's not doing too badly either. He's already won 150 dollars and he thinks it's about time he bowed out. After all, that's enough money to take him and Chad out for a nice dinner.

And if he's thinking about maybe taking Chad out for a nice dinner because he likes Chad, in a more than friendly way that Chad might not know about, well, that's for Matt to know and Chad to possibly never find out.

But he wants to do something nice for Chad, because Chad is one of his best friends, and maybe one day Chad will see Matt in the same way. He can only hope. If Chad enters his thoughts when he jerks off, that's probably … probably not fair to Chad.

After all, Chad's straight, as far as he knows. Matt shouldn't be jerking off thinking about him. It almost feels rude, feels intrusive. But then it's hard not to, when he closes his eyes and his brain conjures up the image of Chad's gorgeous, smiling face, the way he smiles so hard his cheeks plump out. Then, his brain gets overriden by his nether regions and he finds himself thinking about Chad and the way his eyes crinkle at the corner when he grins, the way his lips are just pink enough to picture around Matt's cock.

Sometimes he hates himself for having fallen for Chad when Chad is straight, so far as he knows. He can never let Chad know, anyways. Because what if Chad's reaction is quite respectably a horrified, disgusted response?

So no, he'll take his winnings and offer to take Chad out to dinner where they'll take a selfie and post it to instagram and tweet it with some cute line about hanging out and maybe some bad pun. That's all it is.

So here, Matt lays down his cards, collects his winnings, turns to Chad, who is stood next to him with a grin on his face, ever-present, and Matt does not think about wanting to kiss Chad and cup his face between his hands.

“I'm taking you out to dinner,” he says instead, as he accepts money and pockets it. He doesn't ask so much as pronounce it. Chad doesn't seem at all disinterested in the idea and instead hooks his arm through Matt's, linking them at the elbows.

“Lead the way,” Chad says cheerily. So Matt leads them out of the casino onto the strip where there's plenty of options. But the closest option is their actual hotel. They're in a decent hotel, and the dining options would be good, and it means that they could get drinks and go straight back to their rooms – Matt kind of wants to invite Chad up to his room afterwards and just let him crash there for the night, but that's probably a pipe dream.

“I've got an idea,” Matt says, and he leads them down the strip to their hotel and he gestures at the entrance. “They've got a restaurant here, why don't we just...” he trails off.

“Sounds good,” Chad says, and he enters, unlinking their arms, and already Matt misses the feel of Chad's touch, his arm against arm. It's chilly for Vegas, only forty degrees, and they're dressed only in a t-shirt (Matt) and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up (Chad), so entering the hotel is a relief from the fair chill outside.

“Warmer,” Chad pronounces and Matt nods, stays close to Chad. Chad's hair is windswept and a little messy and Matt wants nothing more than to tuck it back into place with his fingers, let his hands come to touch Chad's cheeks and jaw. He aches for it.

Instead, he half-guides Chad over to the restaurant where a matron, dressed formally, leads them to a table, smiles gently at them, and offers them menus before disappearing away back to her post.

Matt's looking at what he wants – he's thinking steak. After all, he's got a hundred and fifty bucks to blow, he can afford a steak. From out of the corner of his eye, their waiter appears, and he looks up with a smile.

“Do you know what you'd like to order?” The waiter asks and both Chad and Matt shake their head no to that, to which he follows up with, “Can I get you a drink?”

Yes, he certainly can. “I'll have a double shot of tequila and club soda,” Matt says. After all, if they're not driving, if they're just walking upstairs, there's nothing that says he can't relax and get a little tipsy.

“Yeah, I'll have the same, but switch the club soda for Pepsi,” Chad says. The waiter nods and disappears away.

“I'm thinking steak,” Matt says. “I mean, what's a better way to spend gambling money on a good steak? Steak and a double baked potato. Mmm, cheddar cheese.”

“Oh, that does sound good,” Chad agrees. He sets down his menu. “Well, you've decided what I'm getting. Filet mignon and a double baked.”

Oh, between the drinks and this order, they're definitely going to use up most of Matt's winnings. Well worth it, in his opinion. Especially on Chad.

The waiter returns a minute later with their drinks and Matt catches Chad's menu, hands it over. “I think we're ready to order,” he says. He orders for both of them and Chad doesn't seem at all offended that Matt's speaking for him.

If it seems a bit more date-like, well, maybe Matt inwardly tucks that information away and pretends just a little bit harder that this outing is more than friendly.

“Oh, and an appetizer of garlic bread,” he adds. Because all good meals should start with garlic bread. Plus, they're going to need something to sop up all the liquor they're likely going to imbibe before the night's out.

Chad's not against drinking and neither is Matt, so he can imagine that they'll be well into tipsy by the time they leave. Speaking of – he lifts his glass and takes a sip, feeling the tequila burn at the back of his throat as he swallows.

Chad follows suit and catches Matt's eye, grins. “Hey, let's play a game,” he says. “It's called Chances. It's kind of as follows. You ask someone what the chance of them doing something is, and you have to pick an odd between one and ten. Both people pick an answer, and on the count of three, say your answer. If your answers match, then the dared has to do the thing, If say, you said one out of three and I said one out of two, I have to do it, but if I answered higher, then you have to do it. Though I'm adding the rule if it's not something you can do immediately at this moment, you just have to take a drink.”

“What stops me from just saying one out of ten to ensure you do it?” Matt asks.

“Not being an ass, basically,” Chad shoots back instantly. Matt cracks a grin at him. He wouldn't have, anyways. But it's nice to know Chad would call him on his bullshit if he did. Shows a sign of comfort in their friendship that Matt appreciates.

“Okay, let's give it a go.” Matt agrees.

“Okay. What are the chances you would, um... go gambling again, like, tomorrow?” Chad asks. Matt mulls it over in his head.

“Okay, got an answer,” he says. “One, two, three. One to five,” he says, just as Chad says, “One to seven,” and Matt grumbles at him.

“Do I really have to go gambling again tomorrow? Or can I just take the drink?” Matt asks.

“Just take the drink. We're probably going to be busy tomorrow, anyways.” Chad answers. “I'm just playing around right now. Though this game usually winds up being a bit dangerous to anybody who plays it.”

“How so?”

“Well, I've never experienced it but word from a friend who has includes getting tattoo'd on the spot.” Chad says.

“Fuck no,” Matt says. “Do not ask me the odds on that one, I'm not getting a tattoo tonight. Okay, um. Chances of you eating escargot?” He'd noticed it on the menu and he's not against escargot so this wouldn't be a lose-lose for him.

Chad blinks and thinks about it for a second, then nods. “Three, two, one, one to four,” and Matt's reply of “One to six,” because while he's not against it, he's also not particularly interested in it given that they're getting an appetizer of garlic bread.

Matt grins and flags over their waiter. “Can we also add an appetizer of escargot?”

Chad sighs. “Garlic bread plus snails soaking in garlic butter? I'm going to stink of garlic later.”

“Ladies man,” Matt teases. “You'll be wooing them left and right.”

Chad grumps at his teasing. “Chances that you'll slam that drink?” and already Matt knows he's going to lose because nobody should slam a double shot of a tequila and mixer (despite there being a drink called a Tequila Slammer) and on the count of three, they both say “One to ten” which means they both have to do it and so, matching gazes, they pretty much chug their drinks.

Matt shudders as he finishes his. “Bastard.” He curses at Chad. “Do not chance me that one again.”

Chad wipes the back of his mouth where a bit of drink has dribbled out. “Don't worry. I won't.”

Of course, their waiter, because this is a fancy hotel with a fancy restaurant, is there in an instant, bringing their garlic bread and promising the escargot is on the way, and asking if he can get them another drink. Matt shrugs his assent and so does Chad. So long as they're not going to basically be doing tequila shots like that again, he's not against a second drink.

“Okay, okay, let's lay off the chances for a bit while we eat.” Chad says. He pulls a piece of bread towards him and bites into it. “Oh god, I'm going to literally be seeping garlic butter out of me.”

Matt takes his own piece and yes, the bread is practically sopping in garlic butter. “My blood is going to turn into garlic butter,” he bemoans. “When I have a coronary right here, just don't even bother calling 9-1-1, there's no way they can get here in time.”

He digs into the bread with gusto and when the escargot arrives a couple of minutes later, he uses the tiny fork that it comes with to dig out one of the snails from its shell and brings the equally tiny morsel of snail meat to his mouth, chewing it. It's definitely an acquired taste – it's chewy and very garlic-y.

“Eat up,” Matt says, handing the fork over to Chad. “You're in this too. Three a piece, it looks like.”

So they trade the fork between them and maybe it should be kind of gross that they're sharing a piece of silverware but it's not really all that weird. Soon, the escargot are gone, as is most of the garlic bread, though they push the rest aside to leave room for dinner, and they're happily nursing their second drink each, talking lazily about life, about their plans, upcoming games they want to play.

Then dinner comes and they stuff themselves with double baked potatoes and steak and work a third drink into the mix and yeah, every single penny of what Matt's won is definitely going to be spent on this dinner probably.

In fact, by the time they finish their third drinks, they're both feeling pretty good, to say the least. Six shots of tequila in two hours? Yeah, pretty good.

So they make their way up to Chad's hotel room because Matt's is a floor up further and Chad's is closer.

“Chances of you crashing here?” Chad teases Matt. Matt, who would love nothing more than to crash next to Chad on his bed, already has his answer before Chad's even started to think of it, and blurts out “One to ten,” although Chad must have known the answer and answers the same with a snicker.

“Guess I've got a roomie for the night,” Chad says, opening his door, letting Matt in first. Matt flops out on the bed – only one in the room and he thinks about the nearness of Chad and wonders just how comfortable Chad must be with him to let him stay the night.

“Chances of us snuggling?” He mumbles into the pillow, soft enough that Chad can't hear him. “One in ten,” he automatically answers, so that no matter what Chad answered, it'd be lower, and he'd have to do it. Not that Chad can hear him.

“What's that?” Chad asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Matt replies, rolling onto his back and sitting up. “Did you have a good dinner?” He asks, feeling almost shy now that it's just them alone. The alcohol has lubricated his brain but words seem complicated.

Chad sits next to him. “Yeah, it was good. Even the escargot.”

Matt smiles. “Got you to come around to escargot, did I?” Chad shrugs and leans a little against Matt.

“Got any money leftover?” Chad asks.

“'bout twenty-five bucks, why?” Matt says. Chad stands and sidles his way over to the mini-bar. “Oh, what, you're going to make me pay for more liquor, really overpriced liquor at that?”

“You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?” Chad asks, smiling as though he's innocent and a flush crawls up Matt's spine. Yeah, he would and he will.

“You just like taking advantage of me,” Matt says softly.

“Not like you mind,” Chad shoots back. If this was a twitter discussion, they'd be playful, Matt would say something cute back, like, “Remember last time we spent time together?” and add some winky face or something, insinuations.

He falls silent here. “Toss me the vodka.” He finally says. Chad's broken out the tequila, a little bottle, and he tosses an equally sized bottle of vodka over to Matt. He's sitting on one of the chairs at the tiny dinette table, staring across the room at Matt.

For thirty minutes more, they small talk. Until.

“Chances of your flirting with me being real?” Chad asks, looking at Matt a little hazily. Matt frowns.

“That's not a chances I can answer,” he tries to shuffle his way out of it. “Seeing as it's not something I can immediately do, you're just asking me if my flirting with you is real.”

“You could always answer and if you lose, flirt with me.” Chad says. He shoves a toe along the carpet and Matt watches the trail, the way it leaves a fine line in the carpeting.

“What, you want me to?”

Chad shrugs. “It makes me smile. So chances of it being real?” And here's the kicker, here's the question that's going to give it all away. Matt's not going to lie though.

“One, two, three?” He asks, confused as to how Chad's going to even answer this one. “One to one,” he says, and Chad says nothing, does not give his own chances.

“Oh,” Chad says. “Well then.” He looks surprised and Matt is only slightly alarmed that he's been tricked into confessing his feelings.

“If it fucks things up between us,” Matt says. “I can stop from now on.” He finishes off the last of the vodka. “Please throw me something else. I don't care what.” He adds, lifting up the empty bottle of vodka and tossing it in the garbage next to the bed.

So a little bottle of rum lands somewhere near his vicinity. He picks it up, twists the cap, downs most of it in one go, feeling the burn in his throat. Better than tequila burn, at least. Somewhat smoother.

Then he dares a look at Chad, who does not look upset in the slightest. He's got a little bottle of whiskey and tosses back a swallow and Matt watches the bob of his adam's apple. He wants to bite it, kiss it.

Six shots of tequila, plus the vodka, plus the rum, he's definitely hazy now, and he watches as Chad stands, wobbles slightly, finishes the whiskey. He throws away his two little bottles and sits next to Matt.

“Chances of me not being nearly drunk enough for this conversation?” Chad says, holding up two final bottles, one of scotch, one of gin. Matt snatches the scotch. If he's going to drink straight, he's going to drink something that tastes good. He'll leave Chad to suck down gin, because he personally doesn't appreciate the taste. And if Chad's going to push his comfort levels, then he'll take what he can get.

“Three, two, one,” Chad adds. Matt says, almost sharply, “One to one,” while Chad says, “One to five,” and looks surprised at Matt's answer.

“I'm surprised, not homophobic, you idiot,” Chad informs him. He leans into Matt's shoulder again and the touch is more than Matt expects. Matt stills. “And not entirely surprised, to be honest.”

Matt glances at Chad, wordless. Chad shrugs. “Arkas and Aurey both bet me you were serious. Beef thinks it's a joke. He now owes me twenty bucks, but I owe the first two ten apiece so I'm breaking even, I guess.”

Matt feels almost displeasure flare through him. After all, who enjoys their emotions being bet upon as if it's a game? Certainly not him. He cracks the cap of the scotch and sips it, still silent.

After another minute of no words from Matt, Chad sighs. “Guess I'm gonna be the one to do this. Chances of you letting me kiss you?”

Matt will not answer that. He's drunk, not stupid, and he has no idea what Chad's playing at. It's all moving too fast, anyways. So he's silent as Chad counts down and stays silent when Chad says “One to four,” and still ever silent when Chad stares at him.

“One to four,” Chad repeats. Matt looks at him, lips pressed in a firm line. He blinks at Chad, eyes a little blurry from alcohol. He's not sure what he's feeling right now.

“Okay,” Chad says. “Is the game off?” Matt wants to kiss Chad, sure, of course he does, but he has no idea what's happening anymore.

He should give an answer. He could answer higher and lie, force Chad into it. After all, Chad's the wild card here, and his answer would probably be more realistic, but he's not going to force Chad into it.

Chad sips his gin. “I'm giving you an opening,” he finally says after another minute. Matt falters for words, feels them trip and catch in his throat.

“I shouldn't take it.” He finally stumbles out. He finishes the scotch in one gulp. His stomach churns from the amount of alcohol in it.

“Chances of our respective selves having a hangover in the morning?” He offers as a joke. “Three, two, one, one to two,” he says and Chad looks at what's left of the gin, gulps it down, hands the bottle to Matt, who throws it away.

“One to one. You're better with liquor than I am. I'm gonna regret drinking this much. You and your double tequila shots,” Chad murmurs. Matt would object that Chad was the one who kept ordering drinks with Matt, Chad was the one who broke out the mini-bar, but Chad's leaning against Matt now.

Chad's turning his head to rest on Matt's shoulder. “I will, you know,” he says softly. “If you want me to.” His voice is gentle and breathy and Matt doesn't understand at first, until then he does.

“You're drunk,” Matt says. “This isn't about what I want.”

Chad sort of lifts his head, lifts it long enough to prop his chin on Matt's shoulder, leans his weight further on Matt, until Matt's supporting Chad. “Chances of me wanting it too?” He starts.

Matt inhales, holds for five seconds, does not know how to answer. Answers as best as he can as Chad counts them down. “One to eight,” he says, because Chad's straight. Chad murmurs out, “One to four,” and Matt is startled both by what that means, emotionally and the fact that now, in fact, yes, Chad is going to have to kiss him.

“Chad,” he warns. “You're drunk.”

“You're being petulant,” Chad returns. “Look at me.”

Matt is taller than Chad and Chad is leaning and he turns, looks at Chad all slipped down on his side, and Chad blinks up at him, eyes beautiful, face beautiful, everything about him drunk and beautiful.

Matt can feel the ache in his chest. He wants. He so badly wants. He shouldn't, and now he's going to have to, if they follow the rules, and what's it all going to mean, and what if it gets all fucked up, and his thoughts have run away with him, he's lost, hopelessly.

Chad lifts his head. His gaze noticeably flickers between Matt's eyes to his mouth and back up. “I guess I've thought about this,” he says.

Then he's lifting, up and forwards, and his mouth presses into Matt's. It is entirely awkward, Chad's mouth damp from gin and Matt's mouth dry with nerves, and he only thinks to even kiss Chad back as Chad pulls away.

He's had his chance and lost it. Chad looks at him, sees his guarded expression. “You suck at kissing,” Chad declares finally.

“I do not. I'm a good kisser. Just not when it comes to straight guys who are being stupid and drunk,” Matt informs Chad.

Chad rolls his eyes at him. “I'm not being stupid.” He answers and Matt thinks that of the two of them, Chad is by far the more petulant. He voices as much and he's barely got the words out when Chad leans in and kisses him again, and this time, Matt is so surprised that he kisses back on instinct.

Matt is a good kisser – he wasn't lying about that. He knows he's a good kisser and Chad makes a muffled, surprised noise when Matt kisses back. Chad's mouth is soft and Matt is rough with him, if this is how they're going to play it, he kisses Chad rough and hungry, and Chad suddenly is going pliant towards him.

He reaches up and pushes his fingers through the back of Chad's hair, where it's shorter, soft under his fingers, not gelled up or styled, and he pulls Chad in, sucks in a breath through his nose, really kisses Chad with all of his intent.

When he breaks away, Chad stares at him. Chad breathes heavily, his eyes wide, and his mouth widens, and his eyes again flick between Matt's eyes and Matt's mouth.

“Okay, so you don't suck at kissing,” Chad admits and Matt sniffs at him, almost haughty, because, well, frankly, _of course he doesn't_.

“Chances...” Chad starts. He looks at Matt. “Give me a chances, Matt,” he mutters. Matt's head swims.

“Chances of you regretting that?” Is the first thing that pops to his head and Chad's expression slides from surprise to – is that frustration? - to disbelief. “Three, two, one,” Matt adds as an afterthought. “One to two,” and Chad murmurs, “One to seven. Um. Point five.”

Matt blinks. So Chad doesn't regret it very much. “Why'd you regret it at all?”

“Because you're upset.” Chad says. “Because your first response is to ask if I regret it.”

“You're – fucking hell, Chad, you're... you're you! You're straight!” Matt says, because it comes out of him in a rush.

Chad blinks at him. “Well, yeah, but – I mean. Have you noticed that I flirt back?”

Matt's silent for a good twenty seconds. “Just for show, though,” he finally offers. Chad is also quiet for about half a minute.

“At first.” He finally says. “Maybe not so much anymore.” When Matt lifts his gaze off his feet to Chad's, he sees honesty written there. He shudders in fear and want simultaneously.

He can't do this. He has to do it because it's everything he wants.

“Chances of you letting me kiss you again?” Chad asks. He doesn't bother to count down. “One to five, going by your behavior,” and Matt shakes his head.  
  
“One to one,” and now it's on him, now it's on him to kiss. He stares down Chad, gets lost in Chad's eyes, comes back dizzy and thoughtless. He leans in and kisses.

“No more chances,” he breathes out. “No more. Just – tell me.” He needs to know what Chad wants. Chad kisses back, bites at his lower lip, works a hand under Matt's shirt and presses his fingers to Matt's waist.

“'kay,” Chad finally gets out. “I don't – I don't know, though. I just want to follow through on this.”

So they kiss and Chad sort of shifts them until he's sitting in Matt's lap, and Matt's head is still reeling with the idea that Chad might not be as straight as he thought, and then Chad's pushing his weight forward, pushing Matt down onto the bed.

He fumbles his hand under Matt's shirt further, then slides down, finds Matt's slacks and pops the button, unzips them.

“Chad,” Matt warns, even as Chad slinks his hand inside and presses at the hem of Matt's boxer-briefs, pushes underneath there too. “What are you-” He doesn't finish the sentence as Chad's fingers find his cock.

“You're moving way too fast for yourself,” Matt grits out. “Aren't you?”

“For as much as I've had to drink, I'm pretty sure my inhibitions are obliterated,” Chad murmurs, sloppily kissing at Matt, and Matt kisses back equally sloppy, tongue languid against Chad's, in Chad's mouth, then letting Chad chase it away back to his own.

“My point exactly, am I taking advantage of you?” Matt asks, worried.

“No, I think if anything, I'm about to take advantage of you,” Chad says, and he giggles, he actually giggles. Matt closes his eyes and his brain swirls. Chad's overwhelming and touching him and he can't in all good faith say he doesn't want it.

So he falls silent, until he doesn't because he moans, he arches his hips up into Chad's touch, and Chad is either not nervous about this at all or really good at hiding it because he just carries on kissing Matt through his noises, jerking Matt slow and loose, not moving his hand enough, not enough space, until Matt kicks off his slacks, needing more.

Then, Chad starts to sweep his fingers up and down the length of Matt's cock over and over, he props himself up and stares at Matt, who stares back at him, stares into Chad's eyes and wonders what this all means, and then he can't keep his brain together anymore, so he just stops fighting.

“Want you,” Matt breathes out. “You've no idea how badly I've wanted this.” He pushes into Chad's fist. “Tighter, roughter, wanna come so badly,” and Chad obliges him, picking up the pace, squeezing firmer around him.

“You nervous?” Matt asks. Chad shakes his head no.

“I should be. But I guess I've got enough liquor in me to just not be scared of this,” and Matt can't hold it in, he blurts out, “Can I blow you when you're done?” and Chad stares, mouth parting.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I'd be okay with that,” Chad says. Matt hisses low under his breath as he approaches orgasm, catches Chad's wrist with his hand and squeezes, hips rutting faster into Chad's touch.

“We need to talk about this. Tomorrow. Clear heads.” Matt insists. “I'm not leaving here without talking about this.”

“That's fine,” Chad manages, focused as he as on Matt and giving Matt pleasure, and then Matt groans loudly, feels his orgasm sweep through him, and he's got just enough brains left to yank his shirt up right as it hits, so that when he pulses his come stickily out across his stomach, it doesn't get on his clothes.

He closes his eyes, panting hard. “Give me approximately one minute to get my brain back together. Take off your pants.” He manages, not planning on to renege on what he's offered Chad.

Chad shifts his weight off Matt and there's the loss of Chad's nearness, but then Matt hears Chad unzipping his pants, shuffling out of them, and he peeks over at Chad, eyes almost unfocused from how much liquor is in him, but Chad's lying back on the bed next to him, wearing his shirt and only his shirt.

Matt won't lie, he stares at Chad's cock. He's a filthy pervert. Chad's cock is long and slim and lovely and he really can't wait to get his mouth on it, so he rolls over and kneels next to Chad. “It's been a while since I did this, plus I'm drunk, so don't judge me too hard.”

It's been at least two years since he last gave a blowjob and he was far more sober, so right now he's worried about gagging and choking, especially given Chad's length.

He licks at the tip hesitantly, watches Chad's face from what he can see, sees Chad's lips twitch up into a small smile.

“Don't get shy on me now, Matt. I know you better than that.” Chad slurs out. Well, if that's how they're playing it...

Matt promptly leans forward and takes as much of Chad as he can into his mouth. He's definitely too drunk to attempt to deep-throat, not that he can't, and not that Chad isn't long enough for it, but he's too drunk for it, so he just bottoms out where he can and sucks lazily, bobbing his head, setting a slow pace.

“Oh,” Chad breathes out. “That feels good,” and he reaches down, strokes Matt's hair. Matt closes his eyes and inhales the musky scent that is Chad, as he sucks him, lets Chad stroke through his hair, and prays to god that this isn't going to be a “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” sort of deal.

He swirls his tongue around the tip, he jacks Chad off at the base where he can't quite fit Chad all the way into his mouth, and he sucks and hollows out his cheeks as he works down Chad's shaft, until Chad's shifting in the bed and spreading his legs further, as if trying to give Matt more access somehow. Two years isn't that long, he thinks, and it comes back to you fast enough.

Chad's fingers are tugging at his hair, gently, but tugging none the less, squeezing each time Matt sucks at him. “Christ, I should have known you'd be good at this too,” Chad manages to get out between gasps and breathy moans.

Matt has no means of replying, and instead he just hums his agreement and Chad's hips lift at that sensation around his cock, at the way that Matt rolls his tongue just so against the head and back down his length.

Matt's too drunk to focus the way he should, but Chad's too drunk to care, and it's not long before Chad's fingers are pulling too tight in his hair but he doesn't care, not when Chad's letting out a gutteral noise as he comes and spills across Matt's tongue.

Then, he pulls off and swallows and looks at Chad, who looks bleary and completely obliterated, to be honest. Chad blinks at him a few times. “Christ,” he manages to enunciate.

They're quiet, as if unsure of what to say, before finally Chad manages to sit upright. “Bed,” he says. He tugs on his boxers and tugs off his shirt, and Matt does the same, and he's going to be sleeping next to Chad after just having engaged in what they did, and his brain is too clouded by alcohol to really process this.

Instead, his head hits the pillow and he closes his eyes and he sleeps.

When he wakes up, his head only aches a fair amount and he's not sick to his stomach so he's pretty sure he got off lucky. Chad's not there. The bed is empty, so is the bathroom, and Matt's heart sinks.

Until – Chad walks in, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Hey,” he says very quietly. “Sorry, I had to go down to the front desk and see if I could get some aspirin for my head. There was none in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Matt says softly. “Did you, um.” He has to ask now or he won't ask at all. “Did you want to talk?”

Chad sits next to him. He looks rumpled in yesterday's clothing and Matt is suddenly aware of how undressed he is compared to Chad.

“We should.” Chad agrees.

“Okay. Um. Was that – is it... are we just chalking all of that up to a stupid, drunken night?” Matt asks. “Because it can be, if you want to take it back.”

Chad tilts his head. “Not particularly.” He answers. “I was kind of hoping to we chalk it up as it takes a really bad game to get us to confess that we like each other and then consider starting a relationship or something.”

Well then. Matt can – he thinks he likes that idea a lot more. He places a hand on Chad's knee. “So you like me back?”

“Were you listening at all last night? I know we were drunk but yeah, I think I remember admitting something to that effect, maybe not as clearly as I could have, but yeah.” Chad tells him.

“Oh.” Matt's quiet here. He's never been good at this. He's definitely never been good at this when it comes down to a person he thought was straight.

So it's up to Chad to take the initiative. Chad is the one who catches Matt's jaw and forces Matt to look him straight in the eyes.

“Matt, I'm just asking point blank because you obviously aren't going to, do you want to maybe give this a go?”

Matt nods slowly, staring at Chad, who offers him his soft, quirk of a smile. “Okay then. So, did you want to maybe let me kiss you now?”

Matt's reaching for Chad at that idea, pulling him close. “Come here, just get in bed again. If you're really in.”

“I'm really in,” Chad assures him. And then there's Chad, kissing him, sinking back under the covers, and Matt stops caring about anything else at that point.

 


End file.
